


Scotch and Wine: The Stark Chronicles

by LyraInTheDark



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Crossover, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Slash, add the whole cast, because, slash is everywhere, why not
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-19
Updated: 2013-09-19
Packaged: 2017-12-27 00:42:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/972283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LyraInTheDark/pseuds/LyraInTheDark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The enemy is defeated; the battle is over - but Tony Stark hasn't landed quite where he expected.  There are a thousand consequences to the accident of his arrival north of Winterfell; a king and his entourage will soon be approaching, and Ned Stark, host to this strange visitor, knows that winter is coming too...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scotch and Wine: The Stark Chronicles

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nightmare of Cat](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Nightmare+of+Cat).



Fire.

Tony wakes and it is all around - and ice, too. Cold; he hears wind howling and stands slowly, begins one piece at a time to pry himself from his useless suit before it freezes to his flesh. The aliens – well, there are no aliens and that's just fine with him. There's no nuke, either, and that is _also_ just fine with him. Nukes aren't...polite.

He looks around and sees trees and snow and nothing else. There's an exceptionally freezing wind; on the whole, he thinks, he preferred the first time he woke up somewhere unknown and uncomfortable.

“At least the desert was warm -”

He hears the horse hooves just as he's got the helmet off, and turns with his usual smile - if a little battered - to see a very much human looking stranger wrapped in furs astride a shaggy, snow-coated stallion. It's a strange picture; he's passed through time and space and come out on the other end to find himself in the middle of...what? The filming of the _Lord of the Rings_? There's a snowy mountain in that, isn't there?

He wishes momentarily for Jarvis, and more momentarily still to _wake up_ – but this isn't a dream and he knows it. The dream had had Pepper in it, and a large number of corvettes full of whipped cream...ah, but this wasn't the time for such reminiscences. He turned to the stranger and saw a beard frosted with snow and a pair of eyes gleaming from beneath the deep shadows of a fur hood.

"Ah...hi? A little help, yeah? Hello? Can you understand me?"

Tony rolls his eyes at himself and goes back to peeling off armor.

"Of course you don't understand me, I just fell out of the sky into who the hell knows where? Well, you look human, but I'll be damned if I know where I am and how that's possible..."

By the time he is standing in the torn tee-shirt and grungy khaki's he'd been wearing beneath the suit, the stranger is off his horse and standing close by. His face is stern, but the look of him is both amused and...hungry, and he reaches out one hand to touch the glow at the center of Tony's chest. It's an experimental touch, curious fingers exploring the hard surface, the strange blue light that shines through his shirt.

"I do understand you, stranger - though not why you had so little expectation that I would. And I wonder what you are - a man who rides the sky; not even a dragon to your name...do you have a heart, stranger?"

"Yeah...I...a dragon? Really, you've got those here?”

“Perhaps. Where do you come from, stranger?”

“I - uh...I come from Earth."

"Is that a city in the -"

"No - no, it's not a _city_ . It's a planet."

Tony is wondering if he's gone through a portal in space or been tossed back into medieval Europe - or maybe he's hallucinating? Dragons. Just...what? He reaches out one hand and touches the face of the man in front of him - warm skin, rough stubble, maybe a week's growth of beard. The stranger looks surprised at his forward nature, but he doesn't move away.

"You say - a planet? Perhaps the Maester -"

"I...uh...look, I don't think so. If you don't mind giving me a ride to civilization on Shaggy there -"

"His name is Raethos, sir, and he's the finest stallion in my stables. A care for your tongue; I'm the lord of Winterfell, and I've servants who are quicker to take offense than I am - to those who don't think before they speak."

"Lord, huh? Nice, perks are probably better than mine - it's cold, can we get a move on?"

"Surely. What is your name, impatient stranger?"

Tony slides onto the saddle in front of his new _friend_ and relaxes against the warmth of his sturdy chest and the warmth of his furs.

"Name's Tony, Tony Stark."

The man behind him on the horse leans forward and speaks in a low voice.

"Surely you jest -"

"Nope, that's my name - or Ironman. If, you know, you're into that kinda thing. Which, I have to be honest, I kind of am – but, you know -"

"Sir, it must be coincidence; I pride myself on knowing the face of a liar, and you are not one. I am Eddard Stark, and I don't know how you come to share my family name, but for now call me Ned."

"Sure thing - so, how far is it to _somewhere_?"

"Not far; not far. We don't go far from home these days."

"No? Why not?"

"Winter is coming."

The words have a sense of foreboding in them that speaks to more than just a seasonal change.

"Is it? Ah...seems like it's plenty cold enough already."

"That is truth, but this is the North and the season has only just begun. If we were in the true north - in the land beyond the wall - you'd know real cold then, Ironman Tony Stark!"

* * *

 

By the time they reach what must be Winterfell, Tony thinks he's probably frozen to the horse. He is shivering even pressed against the other man's body, even with the warmth of the horse beneath him and the heat of the furs that Ned is heaping against him. They're Ned's own furs, and despite his usual reserve, his usual bravado, Tony is too cold to care about the fact that his bruised and bleeding back is pressed against the damp warmth of another man's body.

Perhaps Ned sensed his tension, the discomfort Tony feels just from existing in this unknown place, because he tries to make light of the situation with jocular warmth that is as unfamiliar to him as to Tony.

"There is no shame in the comfort one warrior gives to another - whether that is the sword in battle, or the sword in bed. Do not fear being close to me, Ironman Tony Stark!"

"Sword metaphors, huh? And I'm _really_ not hallucinating?"

Ned's laughter soothes, and then Tony is bundled off the horse by attentive servants, brought deep inside warm walls – a hypocaust, he thinks, and he is right though later when he asks he'll find that only the concept, not the word, is known here.

He follows Ned through dim warm halls, accepts armfuls of warm clothing and then greets a woman who is introduced as Ned's wife, Catherine – a woman with a sharp, no-nonsense glare. _Not going to get on the wrong side of that one_ , Tony thinks. He has no idea what he's getting himself into; he has no way out of it even if it did.

He follows Ned away from the woman, and they make their way into a series of low chambers rich with steam. The sounds of splashing make themselves known before Tony takes ten steps past the first doorway, and he watches Ned strip with appreciative eyes and then listens to him shooing someone else out another entrance. _Kids, huh? Sounds like a bunch of boys._

Ned comes back and grins at him, water splashed on him from the chest down.

“My sons. There will be time for you to meet them later, they can be rather...exhausting. If you let them. I suppose I'd best tell you now to prevent later awkwardness, Jon is the eldest but he's not my wife's son.”

“Ah, got it. Every lord's got to have his bastard, right?”

For a moment Tony receives a hard, dark stare – but his face is open and honest, his words just...matter of fact, and Ned relaxes.

“I suppose that is so.”

“Tense about that, huh? You one of those death before dishonor types?”

“You...could say that. Though I think a man's honor is his own concern.”

“Ah...yeah.”

“Are you coming, Ironman Tony St-”

“Tony! Just call me Tony. And yeah, I'm coming, I'm coming...”

He strips out of his bedraggled shirt and khakis, kicks off worn sneakers and limp, gray socks and then follows where Ned has gone, hands in his hair ruffling it in all directions. It feels good to be naked – or rather, it feels good to be out of those clothes, with the potential of being washed.

He's pleasantly surprised with what he finds when he gets past obscuring steam. The baths of Winterfell aren't medieval; Tony classifies them as Roman, opulent, and thinks that if he gets home he's going to absolutely de _stroy_ the master bath and make it...a little more like this.

Wet stone gleams in guttering torchlight, and in the light of the enormous fire that glows on a truly magnificent hearth. There's none of the mosaics and tiling he would expect from a truly Roman bath. The walls are bare, rough stone, but everywhere there isn't water there is greenery, dark fronds and pale, damp and gleaming in the faint red light. The greenery shadows bubbling pools of clear water, and Tony thinks he sees fruit in some of the branches – is it just the steam that makes that possible? But then he turns and is distracted from the scenery by his companion.

The nearest pool is already occupied by Ned – tall, gorgeous in the hard way only a warrior can be. He has no modesty, stands beneath a fall of hot water between one pool and another. Tony tracks individual drops, wets his tongue with his lips and wonders about bathing etiquette on alien planets full of...Norsemen? _And dragons. Not going to forget the dragons._

But he need not have worried. Ned turns to him, and the _hungry_ is back on his face, and his eyes are appreciative and linger as Tony stretches and smirks.

“You are a handsome man, Tony. A warrior's physique; do you fight, where you come from?”

“Actually that's how I ended up here in the first place; saving the world, you know, all in a day's work – except now the job is going to take _considerably_ longer than a day.”

“Saving the world? Your – Arth?”

“Earth. And yeah. Well, I'm pretty sure it's safe, but that doesn't help me much. No clue where I am.”

“You are in the House of Winterfell, in the far North of Westeros, the land ruled from the Iron Throne. Targaryen's reigned, until recently -”

“Ah...Tar...what?”

“The ones with the dragons, Tony Stark! But they were defeated, years ago – and there are no dragons now, or at least I don't think so. A Baratheon is king now.”

“That's...that doesn't really help. I mean, thanks for the lesson but I need to know what planet I'm on and where in the galaxy it is – assuming it's in the same galaxy. That tesseract packs a _wallop_.”

“Tesse -”

“Yeah we're both in the same boat here, huh? Look, maybe we should start from the beginning. I'm Ironman, Tony Stark, genius billionaire playboy philanthropist and world-saving hero. I'm probably...an alien? Huh. Anyway, I'm from space. So. You know. There's that.”

“But this I already knew. I saw you fall, Tony Stark. It was why I happened to find you; there was no chance in it. I might have been faster getting to you, however, if I had know it was -”

“Such a particularly enticing specimen of manhood?”

“...Something like that.”

Tony grins, and Ned comes toward him, water streaming of his skin, dark shadows flickering over him, enticing.

“You truly are...enticing, Tony Stark. I think you do it on purpose.”

Tony steps back as Ned approaches him, sits on a ledge below the water and stretches his legs out in front of him. He's a sucker for appreciation, for anything – anyone – that feeds his ego. Women are easier than men, but he's had both in his time. There had been thoughts about Bruce, the urge to tame that beast, to flirt with a terrible edge of danger...but that possibility was gone now, it seemed., and he doubted his ability to survive more than six months in this place with his armor gone and his smart-ass comments filter still...well, missing. _So maybe I should take what I want...when I want it...consequences be damned._

He considers the dark eyed woman, Catherine, and the glare she had given him. _Jealous? No. Questions. She'll be the one full of questions._

He considers whether he should be more circumspect, with a lord and an alien and the strange place he's in, but then he thinks, _Nah_ , and when Ned sits beside him Tony turns his head and draws the other man into a kiss.

If Ned is surprised he doesn't show it. His hands wander over Tony's skin, seeking sensitive places, exploring the smooth edge of scar tissue on his chest where gleaming metal meets flesh.

“So, you do not fear a warrior's comfort -”

Tony kisses him again, leans back against the wall of the pool so that Ned must bend over him. He takes one of Ned's hands and settles it high on his thigh – a suggestion, and when calloused fingers drift upward, tease half-hard flesh into straining stiffness, Tony reaches out and takes the rigid length of Ned's erection in his own hand.

“I don't fear much of anything – but no more lame sword jokes, yeah – ahh...”

Tony finds Ned's skin to be surprisingly soft, but maybe that is just the water, the heat, the steam. God knows he shouldn't even be here, in the most literal sense -

He relaxes, lets his fingers stroke languidly, the old eager rhythm dulled because Ned is _teasing_ him, teasing him with the stroke of his thumb across the most sensitive of spots, with the slow movement of his fist, up and down and then up again -

“You – have done this before, Lord Ned.”

“Sarcasm even when you're being pleasured, Tony Stark?”

“It's – ahh, you bastard. It's a trademark -”

Ned leans over him, and then moves forward so that he is straddling Tony's thighs, his fingers still moving at that same, slow pace – Tony tries to match it but Ned's fingers are knowing, terribly knowing, wonderfully knowing. He moans more than he wants to; their breath mingles with the steam, and Tony leans his head back and closes his eyes and gives in to sensation, the rich pleasure sparking up his nerves from every place that Ned touches him and some places that he is not.

“Tony Stark, I want to taste you.”

Then he knows only mouth, mouth on his shoulders, mouth on his chest – the body that straddles him slips back off his knees, and then there is mouth at the crease of his waist and hip and tongue drawing a wet line down the length of his cock.

Tony reaches down with one hand and lets his fingers tangle in the water-darkened hair of the lord kneeling between his thighs – there's a rush from that, a rush of ego and a rush of lust that overwhelms him when Ned seals his mouth around Tony's erection.  
Wet suction enthralls him; half-rough pressure of tongue strokes the line of sensitive nerves in the underside of his cock, moves side to side and then in languid figure eights.

“You – don't stop – that – _that -_ ”

The heat rises in him, a high, tight pressure, and then spurts white and wanton across Ned's tongue. Tony's eyes flutter closed even as Ned pulls away and stands. The battle – the fall – the ride here – the pleasure -

Much as he wants to continue, all his body wants now is rest, and he passes out right there, orgasmic smile stretched across his face.

Ned stares at him, but he is disgruntled only for a moment.

Dark bruises are forming on Tony's skin, and others are already darker than purple. Lightly and strangely as he has spoken, Ned is inclined to think that everything Tony has said is the truth. There's much leeway for a man who's saved a kingdom, never mind a world.

“But next time you'll be the one on your knees, Tony Stark.”

* * *

A/N: This is the fault of N of C.  It is also her birthday present, though I am a slow fwoom and finished it late.  Anway, this is only part one - there are more parts, in which Ironman disrupts Westeros as only Ironman can do.  Plus smut.  Cause...it's Starky and delicious.  

Please Review; my depravity needs your comments!


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